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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328351">Moments from the Path: Drabbles and Ficlets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_familiar_wilds/pseuds/More_familiar_wilds'>More_familiar_wilds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fever, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, One Shot Collection, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Swearing, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, could be read as pre-slash or friendship, mentions of Ciri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_familiar_wilds/pseuds/More_familiar_wilds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of Witcher one-shots, drabbles and ficlets.  Mostly Jaskier whump.  :)</p><p>Latest drabble:  A coda to "Bottled Appetites."  Geralt and Jaskier talk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Whumptober Prompt No.1 Let's Hang Out Sometime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer pulled a ring of jangling skeleton keys from the dead guard's belt before stepping over him and stalking towards where Jaskier hung in the cell, his hands shackled high above his head.  She reached over him with the keys without saying anything, barely casting him a glace.   A wave of her soft dark hair fell into his face.  Her usual sweet scent washed over his senses along with some else...a smoky smell, like she'd been too close to a camp fire.  </p><p>“I never thought I would ever say this,” he croaked,” but Gods, Yen... am I happy to see you.”</p><p>She made a non-committal noise, still trying keys in the shackle.</p><p>“How long have you been kept here?”  </p><p>She sounded different, Jaskier realized. Her voice had a rasp to it now; it sounded spent from too much use. He recognized the quality, the strain of too much singing...or more recently, perhaps, screaming.</p><p>“Yennefer, are you...are you alright?”</p><p>She barked a laugh, and when she spoke next, it was so close to his ear that he shivered in spite of himself.</p><p>“Better off than you, bard.”</p><p>He drew breath to deliver what he hoped would be something witty and scathing when she released the first cuff that held his arm over his head and out came an ugly moan instead.</p><p>“Easy,” she murmured, skimming her violet eyes over him quickly as she switched sides and began working on the second cuff.  </p><p>“It's been four days,” he ground out, “Maybe...maybe five or six now, I'm not sure-”</p><p>The second shackle released and without the chains holding him up any longer, he crumpled. Yennefer staggered beneath his weight as he collided with her, but she grunted and held him upright.  He gripped her shoulder and tried to get his feet under him.</p><p>“You're burning,” she grumbled, adjusting her stance to better support him.  </p><p>“It's flames of desire,” he managed and was rewarded by an exasperated twitch of Yennefer's lips.</p><p>“That's... utterly disgusting,” she said.  Then, “I have a camp not far from here but I can't portal us there, I’m....recovering.  We have to walk, if you can. Where's Geralt?  Did they capture him, too?”</p><p>Jaskier stiffened.</p><p>“He's not with...?” He started then swallowed.  His throat hurt fiercely suddenly and the words then seemed to spill out in a hot, jumbled rush.  “He wasn't with...he wasn't with me when they found me...I haven't seen him since the...They wanted to know where he was- they asked me, they hurt me, but I still couldn't-...because I don't know, I don't know where he is, I don't know where he is, I don't know where he-...”</p><p>He didn't realize he was crying until she pressed his face into her, the bite of her collar bone sharp against the bridge of his nose.  One of her hands was twisted up in his hair, and it hurt but it also grounded him as he gasped in her scent of summer flowers and smoke.   </p><p>“Alright,” she said.  “Alright, breathe then.  You're alright.”</p><p>He shook his head against her shoulder. No. Gods, no, he wasn’t.</p><p>“You will be,” she said, quiet and firm.  “Let’s get you out of here.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Whumptober Prompt No. 23  Exhaustion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Geralt.”</p><p>His gold eyes flew open and his hand went to his weapon until Yen's long fingers curled around his wrist in the dark, stilling him.</p><p>He relaxed but only slightly.  Shooting a glace over his shoulder, he saw Ciri was tucked up tightly in her bedroll, soundly sleeping.  Safe. His heart calmed.</p><p>“Yen?”</p><p>Yennefer was crouched beside his bedroll.  In the red light cast from the dying embers of the camp's fire, she looked gaunt, the shadows on her face exaggerated.  He had not pried into whatever had happened at Sodden but he knew it had weakened her.</p><p>“It's Jaskier,” she whispered.</p><p>Geralt turned and saw that the bard's bedroll was empty. He sat up a little straighter.</p><p>“I heard him get up some time ago,” Yen said.  “He hasn't come back yet.  I think he's ill.”</p><p>Geralt sighed.  He had suspected something was wrong; Jaskier had spent the day stumbling behind, shivering, making less small talk with Ciri than he usually did.  The colder weather and constant moving was hard on all of them as they journeyed northward towards Kaer Morhen, but necessary if they wanted to avoid the Nilfgaard army and their scouting parties...    </p><p>“Stay here with Ciri,” he said, as if it even needed to be said aloud.  “Watch her.”</p><p>“Find him,” Yen said, quietly and watched as Geralt disappeared into the shadows.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Geralt heard the coughing long before he saw the bard.</p><p>In the low light of the moon, he easily spotted Jaskier, sitting on a rock near the river, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders.  The bard hacked into his fist, white wisps of cold air spilling out of him. Geralt was not surprised that Jaskier did not hear his approach but he was dismayed, nonetheless.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>Jaskier jerked, startled, and would have fallen from his perch if Geralt did not throw out a steadying hand to his shoulder at the last moment.  </p><p>“Geralt,” he croaked, voice thin.</p><p>The witcher could feel the heat coming off the bard, even through his thick blanket.  A fever then.  Just what they needed.  And Jaskier out here, in the cold, making himself worse...  Irritation sparked within him, Geralt tightened his grip on Jaskier's shoulder until the other man winced.</p><p>“Come,” he growled, “Let's go.”</p><p>Jaskier shook his head, trying to pull away from Geralt's too-tight grip.  </p><p>“I can't,” he said, “I won't.”</p><p>“Don't be stupid,” Geralt started, angrily. “Why-”</p><p>“I don't want to wake Ciri.” Jaskier blurted, pinning his friend with a miserable, blue gaze. “She barely sleeps as it is, with all the nightmares... and I can't stop coughing, for the life of me...I didn't want to wake her up.”</p><p>Geralt slowly let go.  </p><p>“So, I thought if I came out here for a while, maybe I could just be a disgusting mess without bothering anyone else,” Jaskier concluded, offering a sheepish, chapped smile.  </p><p>Geralt sighed.  He sat down on the rock beside the bard, close enough he could feel Jaskier's shivering side against his.</p><p>“It didn't work,” he said.  “Yen noticed you were gone.  She was...”  He trailed off.</p><p>“Worried?”  Jaskier laughed, incredulous. “You're joking!”</p><p>Geralt shrugged, remembering Yen's eyes in the dim light.  Jaskier's shocked laughter gave way to more coughing. Geralt put a hand on his back as he shuddered.</p><p>“Gods, I feel just terrible,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes.  </p><p>“You look like shit,” Geralt said, because it was true.  </p><p>“Huh, thanks very much,” Jaskier said.  He yawned long and hard enough that it made Geralt bite down against a yawn of his own. The younger man shuffled closer until he closed the gap between them, fitting himself into Geralt's side. Geralt allowed it. At least, the shivering had lessened some.  </p><p>“We should head back,” Geralt rumbled.  “Yen can make you something.”</p><p>He hoped.  Their supplies were low, and nothing useful and wild would be growing in this near-winter climate. How they would deal with Jaskier's illness and keep moving at pace, he did not know.  But they would have to...there was simply no other alternative.  He would get his people- all of them- to the keep, safely and in one piece, if it killed him to get them there.  </p><p>Jaskier's head slumped heavy onto Geralt's shoulder, pulling him back from his thoughts.  </p><p>“Mmm, another moment,” the bard murmured.  “M'finally warm.”</p><p>“Not too long,” Geralt said but Jaskier's breathing was already evening out, coming in steady snuffles against his neck.  </p><p>Geralt sighed.  They would have to head back soon, he really did not want Yen to worry.  She might come looking for them and he didn’t want Ciri left unguarded.  Especially with her propensity towards nightmares...the child really did have a hard time staying asleep.</p><p>He wrapped his arm around Jaskier's shoulders, to keep him warm.</p><p>Another moment, he thought. He could do that at least.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Whumptober Prompt No. 26 Concussion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Filthy witcher!”</p><p>Geralt came to stop in the middle of the main street. Roach nickered beside him and he absently soothed her with a hand on her nose.</p><p>Several villagers had come out of their homes, and their stares were not friendly.  </p><p>“You’re not welcome here!  Butcher!</p><p>A young man bent and picked up a loose cobblestone, held it in a tense hand.  </p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>A flash of blue doublet and white teeth, Jaskier came to stand in front of Geralt, grinning like a fool and stretching his arms wide.  Geralt reached for him but he danced out of range.</p><p>“You are mistaken, my friends! This is Geralt of Rivia, the great White Wolf, friend of humanity! Have you not heard of his recent errand of mercy…? He single handedly saved-”</p><p>The cobblestone flew-</p><p>-Thunk- </p><p>-and collided with Jaskier’s temple hard enough that Geralt could hear the sound of it hitting vibrate in his own teeth.  The bard stumbled backwards, went down hard.</p><p>Geralt was moving before he was even aware he was, pulling Jaskier to his feet and blocking him from further harm with his body.  He felt a stone pelt him above the kidney, one to his shoulder, he ignored them.  </p><p>“Get up,” he said, pulling Jaskier to his feet. The rock must have been sharp; blood was pouring above the bard’s left eye, giving his surprised face a lick of gore.  “Get on Roach.”</p><p>Another stone hit Geralt’s jaw but it was Jaskier’s pained flinch back that made him turn, hand on the hilt of his blade.</p><p>“Enough,” he snarled, and it was.  </p><p>He pushed Jaskier towards the horse without further incident, practically throwing the young bard onto the saddle, and then launching himself up behind. Roach was frantic between the chaos and the extra weight, and he was worried for a moment that she might throw them both before she responded to his command and rode them quickly back the way they had came.  </p><p>As soon as they were far enough away that Geralt felt they would not have to worry about brave, revenge seekng villagers riding after them, he dismounted.  He pulled Jaskier with him, then propped him against Roach in order to inspect his head.</p><p>Jaskier blinked at him dizzily, both hands fisting in Geralt’s shirt to keep himself upright.</p><p>“Tough crowd, I guess,” he said, mournfully.</p><p>Geralt found a rag in one of his saddlebags, took the waterskin and soaked it through. He pressed it to the wound, firmly, ignoring Jaskier’s fluttering hands as he tried to push the witcher off.</p><p>“Geralt…I’m going to…vomit…on your boots.”</p><p>The witcher barely took a step back before Jaskier doubled over and lost his breakfast in the grass between them. Geralt scruffed the back of his jacket to keep him from falling into his own sick.  He hauled him away from the puddle, sitting him down on a fallen log instead.  He replaced the cloth.</p><p>Jaskier took over holding it, grimacing from both the pain and the taste in his mouth.</p><p>“Bastards,” Jaskier grumbled, “the whole lot! I can’t believe that they didn’t even listen, I mean I didn’t get to the good part before they…Geralt?”</p><p>The witcher had his fists clenched, jaw set and his gaze angry. If Jaskier knew enough to be frightened, he would have been.  As it was, he just looked at Geralt, curiously.</p><p>“Don’t ever do that again,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.</p><p>Jaskier huffed.</p><p>“Do what? I said I would act as your barker and spread goodwill on your behalf.  I will certainly continue to do that, angry mobs or not, Geralt, I promised that I-”</p><p>“You will not,” Geralt ground out, “put yourself between me and a threat, whether it’s human or not. Is that understood, bard?”</p><p>Jaskier’s mouth opened.  Slowly, understanding lit up his broken face like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.</p><p>“You…you were worried. You were worried about me.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t say anything. Jaskier let the hand holding the cloth drop into his lap, adjusted so he could try to peer up into Geralt’s eyes.</p><p>“Geralt, my dear witcher, that was not…what happened, it wasn’t your fault.  You know that, right?”</p><p>Jaskier didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one.</p><p>“Those people…thick-headed, ignorant shits that they are…they just…they don’t know you.”</p><p>Geralt scoffed.</p><p>“Neither do you,” he said.</p><p>“Oh sure,” Jaskier said, smiling broadly, “Of course I don’t…how foolish of me. Ah, and, thank you, Geralt, for the human shield bit from earlier. I do appreciate not having my brain splattered all over the street in some shit village in the middle of nowhere.”</p><p>Geralt sighed.  He took the rag from where it hung limply in Jaskier’s hand, folded it over and pressed it to the bump.  The bard hissed but didn’t pull away.  Geralt’s lip quirked up, in spite of himself.</p><p>“You’d have to have a brain for that.”</p><p>“Geralt!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Whumptober Prompt No.4 Running Out of Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-ralt! Geralt of Rivia! Wake up right now! <em>Geralt</em>! Witcher, I <em>need</em> you! I <em>need</em> you to<em> wake</em>-”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt woke to his ears ringing, Jaskier's increasingly panicked chant raising in volume and pitch until it threatened to splinter his skull. <em>Shut up, bard, </em>he tried to say.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmph...”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. His mouth was dry; his tongue flickered out against his lip, tasting bitter dusty moisture and the tang of blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt? Oh, thank the <em>gods..”</em></p><p> </p><p>At least Jaskier had stopped his near shrieking so he could think again. Or try to... Even in the absence of the bard's yelling, there was the relentless drumming of rain close by, the sound of running water, all of it pounding loudly in time with his head. His eyes struggled to open, strangely tacked shut as they were. When he crinkled his brow, he felt the tug of sharp pain pulling at his scalp.</p><p> </p><p>“-alk to me, Gearlt. I need to hear your voice. You were out for so long I began to think..”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier's voice cracked.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmph...'happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don't remember?” Jaskier sounded afraid. Then he cleared his throat and put on his stage voice, trying to mask the tremor. “It's raining outside, we found this nice cave. Warm...dry! We were halfway through making sure it wasn't filled with deadly, man-eating <em>friends of yours</em> when the damned ceiling gave way... any of this ringing any bells for you, Geralt?... A rock about, ohh, the size of<em> my lute </em>bashed in your head on the way down? You remember that? Oh, no, don't suppose you would...And me...well, I think that I might actually<em> die </em>soon if you don't get me out of here, so please, Geralt, for the love of...if that's enough <em>exposition</em> for you...do you think you can get up and help get me<em> the hell out of here</em>?”</p><p>Geralt at last pried his eyes open and gingerly turned his head. With the low grey light coming from the newly made hole above and his fortunate ability to see in the dark, he searched for his companion, following his voice<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>There. In a natural divot in the rocks, Jaskier was well and truly pinned, it seemed. Stones of various sizes obscured his legs and covered up his lower torso, looking with grim foreboding like a half-finished burial cairn. More alarmingly, the rain was pelting in through the ceiling and a veritable waterfall was pouring in over Jaskier's left shoulder. He was already partially submerged as the water collected in the divot, like bathwater slowly filling a tub. He was straining to lift his head, squinting against the rain to try and see Geralt. He looked fearful but he didn't appear to be pain, at least. Good. Just pinned then.</p><p> </p><p>Over head, thunder rolled and there were some distant thuds as more rocks loosened and fell around them. Jaskier was right about one thing; they needed to get the hell out of here and soon.</p><p> </p><p>“M'coming.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt pushed himself up, gritting his jaw against a wave of pain and pushing the dizziness aside by sheer force of will. He listed sideways as he found his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“How is your head?” Jaskier said, wincing as Geralt stumbled stepped his way towards him.</p><p> </p><p>“I'll live,” Geralt grunted.</p><p> </p><p>“That makes one of us, at least. Ha.” Jaskier was attempting for levity but Geralt saw his lower lip trembling. Geralt bent beside him, took a precious moment to pat Jaskier's soaked shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way.</p><p> </p><p>“We'll get you out.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Time passed. Geralt was out of breath but he did not pause flinging stones aside. The water was creeping up to Jaskier's neck and the bard's face had gone milk white with cold, his hair plastered to his face as rivulets of rain spilled from his hair, down his cheeks, to gather in the pool around him.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier's teeth were chattering loud enough now to be heard over the din of falling water, and Geralt was once again reminded how fragile humans were. He was aware that it was cold but it did not slow him. For Jaskier, though, it was clearly sapping his strength, threatening to drag him under faster than the gathering water. Geralt saw his eyes flutter, then close.</p><p> </p><p>“Sing,” Geralt commanded.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier made an incredulous sound.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm sorry, what did you just say?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt did not grace him with a response, continuing to work at freeing the stones.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you hated my singing...”</p><p> </p><p>“I do.” Geralt said. <em>“</em>It will keep you-”</p><p> </p><p>“-I knew it. I knew it! You love my voice, you think I am lovely singer, perhaps the best you've ever heard,” Jaskier's mouth split into a broad smile. “You are a terrible liar, Geralt, I don't know why you continue on with this 'I hate your songs' charade. Honestly. You're not fooling anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>He cleared his throat. Dragged his arms out of the water, holding them out like dripping wings, in a grand gesture, as though he was about to strike up a courtly band.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Once a humble bard, graced a ride along..-”</em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt groaned.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>...With Geralt of Rivia.” </em>Jaskier laughed<em>, </em>shakily, “<em>and that's when he...drowned..!”</em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt paused for just a moment, pinning with Jaskier with a glare.</p><p> </p><p>“You won't drown,” he said, curtly enough that Jaskier's smile tipped and fell.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, of course not,” he said, “Now, if the audience could keep their opinions to themselves, where was I? Oh, yes--”</p><p> </p><p>Above, an ear-splitting round of thunder interrupted. Geralt dove to cover Jaskier's upper body as the vibration released a shower of rocks from the already unstable ceiling above them. Jaskier's cold wet hands grasped at him, tangling up tight in his shirt. Several stones hit Geralt's back, none large enough to do anymore than bruise him.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as it had started, the hailing of stones ended, leaving the hole above them wider and the remaining structure creaking ominously. Geralt eased back up, surprised that they had survived it relatively unscathed until a second stream of water began pouring through the opening above them. The pool around Jaskier began to climb faster.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, panicked. “Geralt! Geralt, the water...!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt knelt and began throwing stones from the pile more quickly. The water lapped over Jaskier's chin, into his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“..Geralt!”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier's terrified blue eyes spun, caught Geralt's. Water flooded up over his mouth and he sputtered.</p><p> </p><p>“Take a deep breath,” Geralt instructed. “When I say.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier heaved and coughed.</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier. Do it. Now.”</p><p> </p><p>His frightened eyes were latched onto Geralt's face as he stretched himself up as far as he could and dragged in a gasping breath. Then, he vanished as the water covered his face.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hauled rocks away with supernatural speed but it was taking too long, he feared....how long could a human hold their breath before they succumbed? He spent several long moments casting rocks aside, before he noticed the air bubbles breaking the surface of the water. Making a decision,.Geralt took a deep breath himself, bent by the pool and leaned in.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, without opening his eyes in the gritty dark water, he found Jaskier's mouth with his. He fitted his lips over Jaskier's, and he blew in the breath he was holding, giving the bard his exhale.</p><p> </p><p>Then he burst back up, and began the process again.</p><p> </p><p>His second time under, Jaskier's mouth met his with urgency. Geralt gave him air. Geralt put his hands under Jaskier's arms and gave him an experimental tug. There was resistance but he did feel a give. Jaskier's arms came up to wrap around him, desperately tight. Geralt yanked harder, once, twice until Jaskier finally- blessedly- came free.</p><p>Geralt pulled them both up, gasping, then dragged Jaskier totally out, sprawling them both on the cave floor. Jaskier's ruined silk trousers were torn, his legs bleeding in long gashes but at least nothing seemed broken as Jaskier buried his head into Geralt's side, coughing.</p><p> </p><p>“..Alright?” Geralt rasped, and Jaskier's head nodded against him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Later, beside the fire, Jaskier was swamped in Geralt's spare clothes, wrapped tightly in both their blankets, sitting close to Geralt to stave off the shivering.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, Geralt...” he started and when he turned his face, it was flushed in the firelight. Geralt frowned, hoping it was not from a fever.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Back there, in the cave. You uh...well, you <em>kissed</em> me.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt huffed. He closed his eyes, bone tired and aching everywhere. He rolled his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“You were dying, Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>“...A kiss of life, then?” Jaskier said.</p><p> </p><p>“'Hmm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well then.” Jaskier chewed his bottom lip. He suddenly turned his head, crossed the slight distance between them and left a very gentle kiss on Geralt's cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“...A kiss of thanks,” he said, quietly, “for saving my life.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt blinked; he looked at Jaskier with something close to surprise before once again facing the flames.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“You're welcome.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Gratitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Geralt is usually awake at a moment's notice, the reflex honed to a fine and necessary blade edge.  But his eyes don't want to open now. His other senses drift up to meet him instead, painfully slow.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He's aware first of an ache in his side. Sharp but the edges are dulling.  Healing now, but it was deep.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ah, that...  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That may have something to do with how hard it is to wake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He remembers.  He remembers taking a strike to the ribs before beheading the beast.  He remembers his vision fading as he pushed himself away from the carcass, then collapsing to the forest floor...</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hmm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beneath his sore head is soft and warm, not the cold, damp and unforgiving ground he expected.  He is also suddenly aware of the bellows-loud breathing of something very close. And then he feels it...someone's fingers are touching his hair, a rhythmic warm weight drifting over his head.  His eyes blast open and he jerks away from the gentle touch with a growl.  Above him, a half gasp and a startled curse.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fuck, Geralt! You're <em>awake</em>!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt bolts upright out of Jaskier's gods-forsaken<em> lap </em>as quickly as possible. The motion is too quick for his addled sense of balance and he sways on his knees for a moment. He glares at the bard when he can see straight, and snarls.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What are you doing?”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaskier stares back at him, open mouthed, and then the fool suddenly laughs in his face. The bard sags where he is sitting and throws the crumpled up doublet in his hand at Geralt's head.  It flops between them, the light green silk almost totally brown with blood.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Keeping you from bleeding to death, you horse's arse!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt looks down at the ruined doublet, at the wound in his side.  The dried blood on Jaskier's hands.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...hmm.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, indeed, <em>hmm!.</em>..You didn't come back to camp, so I went looking for you and found you... Your insides trying to become your outsides!  And I can't carry you, now can I?  I mean, I am strong but not<em> that </em>strong, you weigh twice as much as Roach at least...! So I dragged you as far as I could from that rotten mess, tried to make you comfortable, and then spent the whole night wondering if that dumb beast you killed had a mate that would devour us whole--”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There's no mate,” Geralt grumbles.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“--Or if your stupid slow heart would stop beating on me!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaskier halts his rant with a breath- at last- and rubs a hand over his face.  If his eyes are red when the hand comes away, Geralt does his best to not notice.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So, I believe what you mean to say instead is... I owe you my thanks, Jaskier.  You saved my life, Jaskier.  You're remarkably useful and resourceful, Jaskier.  Thanks for showing me an ounce of human kindness, Jaskier, and not just leaving me to die on the cold ground in the middle of the fucking forest!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt tests his legs and gradually stands, a hand clasped to his side.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You didn't have to,” Geralt says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He extends his free hand to his companion.  Jaskier scoffs and ignores it, rising stiffly on his own and then tucking himself under Geralt's arm to bear part of his weight.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...You're welcome,” he grouses, trying but unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. He starts them moving in the direction of camp.  “No need to go on and on with the gratitude, dear witcher, you're embarrassing me.  Didn't have to...! Huh, well, I will try to remember that next time I come upon you pouring your humors out all over-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” Geralt growls, “You misunderstand me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stops, pulls away and looks Jaskier in the eyes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You didn't have to. You could have just left me.  You should have. But... you <em>didn't.</em>”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaskier flushes under Geralt's direct attention, mouth agape.  He swallows.  Straightens up slightly.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That's just...that's just what friends do, Geralt.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt huffs, puts his  arm and weight back over over Jaskier's shoulders.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or fools.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Monster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>An astonished gasp interrupted the companionable silence.  A peal of tenor laughter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt did not even bother turning around in the saddle.  The bard was prone to fits of dramatics, often over nothing but a particularly lovely shade of sunset or a field full of yellow wildflowers.  It had been irritating the first week or two, Jaskier's general exclamations over just about anything he considered beautiful...but Geralt had learned to tune it out and chalk it up to something like an artist's eye but mostly a fool's heart.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Geralt, <em>look</em>.”   An awed whisper.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt turned his head and saw it, too. On his shoulder, stark against his black cloak, a butterfly opened and closed it's blue, iridescent wings.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It's <em>beautiful.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was, Geralt had to agree.  In all his time, he had never seen one quite that color. He lifted his hand to it, gentle, and was surprised when it crawled onto his fingers.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, eyes reverent, “it <em>likes </em>you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt hummed, taking in Jaskier's face below him, so full of hope and youth and wonder.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...It doesn't know any better,” he said and then blew across his fingers.  The butterfly toppled off and fluttered away.  Jaskier followed it with his eyes, crestfallen.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Neither do you</em>, Geralt thought.  </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Halloween</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Geralt follows the eerie music.</p><p> </p><p>In the dilapidated ball room, he sees them. The source of the sound.</p><p> </p><p>Ethereal and blue, a rotting harpist expertly plucks her strings. Beside her, a headless drummer thrums a hand drum. A flutist, more bones than flesh, wavers in rhythm, keeping time. None of these ghastly and pale horrors cause Geralt's heart to stutter in his chest. It's not the ghosts...it's Jaskier. A very much alive and hale Jaskier—who should be waiting back at camp with Roach—is leading the ragged and undead band with his lute.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are closed, face mournful, mouth open. His hands move expertly, although Geralt is sure he has never heard the bard play this intricate, melancholy melody before.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt closes the distance in several long strides.</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier,” he shouts over the music. Jaskier does not respond. Geralt, hoping to break the thrall, touches the bard's cheek with one great hand. The skin is cold enough to send a shock through him, and when the man opens his eyes, they are otherworldly blue and faintly <em>glowing.</em></p><p> </p><p>His lips, which Geralt now realizes are white with cold, pull back into a bright smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt,” he says, not pausing his playing, not for a moment, “ Oh, Geralt, I'm delighted to see you! You made it to my performance.”</p><p> </p><p>In his periphery, Geralt notices the other musicians are moving closer. A biting wind has kicked up in the ballroom, ancient linens fluttering. He doesn't remove his hand from Jaskier's face.</p><p> </p><p>“You don't belong here,” he growls.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier turns to peer over his shoulder then lowers his voice, conspiratorially.</p><p>“They don't like that I'm talking to you. They're very professional musicians, you see, some of the best I've ever heard. Would you take your seat, Geralt? I'll join you after the...after the...well, the show may take a long time.”</p><p> </p><p>The drummer is reaching towards Jaskier with a transparent hand. Geralt can see the tatters of the ghost's empty neck undulating in the foul wind.</p><p> </p><p>“We're meant to play until the lord of the manor returns, Geralt. We aren't to stop until he comes. It could take hours, Geralt, it could take...” his eyes begin to flutter closed,”..years...”</p><p> </p><p>Or <em>centuries</em>, Geralt supplies. “Yeah... Not happening, Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>He snarls at the ghosts creeping ever closer, risks giving the drummer an angry shove. His hand goes through the beast like a icy mist, but does catch solidly on the drum. It spills to the floor with a clatter, rolling a few feet away. The headless ghost wrings both hands in distress and follows, blindly searching.</p><p> </p><p>Hmm. Now that he is looking closer, Geralt realizes that all the instruments, although clearly old and filthy with time, are real.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt drops his hand from Jaskier's cheek and deliberately grasps the neck of the lute. Jaskier's finger tips skitter over his hand, still forming chords, then pause. His eyes blink open then his face contorts in rage. The expression looks so out of place on the bard's face.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing, Geralt? Let go!”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher does not. In fact, with one firm pull he yanks the lute from Jaskier's arms. The bard gasps, lunges after it.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Geralt, I need to play! Geralt, please!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt brings the lute down on one raised knee and cracks it. The fragile thing splits immediately into two pieces. Jaskier screams in agony beside him and collapses to his knees. He reaches towards the remains with both hands, trembling. When he turns his face up to Geralt, his eyes are filled with tears but blessedly no longer glowing.</p><p> </p><p>The music has stopped. Geralt sees the figures are all glowering at him. The wind is now roaring around his ears. He scoops Jaskier up in one arm, the other man now limp with sobs and shivering, and propels them towards the entrance of the ball room just as the ceiling begins to come down.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“...I don't suppose you could have found a <em>different</em> way to rescue me.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sits glumly in a steaming bath, his eyes swollen and his hair in wild tufts. Geralt pauses in his ministrations, he's been vigorously rubbing warmth back into one of his friend's frigid arms. He had dragged them both to the nearest town, driving Roach at near break-neck speed in the dark forest. He leans back and eyes Jaskier, incredulous.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no it's not that I am not grateful. I am. My lute, though, Geralt. It's just...I loved her, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“No other choice,” he says but, as usual, Jaskier is not listening.</p><p> </p><p>“...And there will never be a lute quite like her, she was the best I've ever had. Always held her tune. Her strings almost never broke on me. Certainly never in performance! Oh, no! And of course, she was a gift from our very first adventure... Couldn't you have...I don't know, knocked me unconscious and dragged me away? Did you have to...smash my darling girl, my...my <em>baby</em>, Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p><em>I could have left you to play for all eternity in a phantom band,</em> Geralt thought but didn't say. <em>You should have stayed at camp lilke I told you.</em></p><p> </p><p>But Jaskier had already spend nearly half an hour quietly weeping over the loss of his 'baby' and Geralt finds he genuinely doesn't want to give him any more reason to cry. The feeling, he finds, is begrudging but sincere.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grasps Jaskier's hand, looking over the fingertips, bloodied from playing note after note. He rubs a warm thumb in the meat of Jaskier's palm until the bard looks him the eye.</p><p> </p><p>“A lute is replaceable,” he rumbles, resolute. “My...friend... is not.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier blinks, his expression hopelessly open. Geralt pointedly does not meet his gaze. The bard's fingers curl around his.</p><p> </p><p>“...you said....you called me your...?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt agrees.</p><p> </p><p>“...well, I mean, you are right. I <em>am </em>irreplaceable,” Jaskier plows on. “It is the musician who truly matters, after all...”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt loses himself, mercifully, in the prattle. He doesn't let go of Jaskier's hand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Fever Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Latest short ficlet:  Geralt leaves Jaskier to look after a feverish Ciri.  Jaskier does his best as he succumbs to the inevitable. (A bit of pre-slash here, I think.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>“You brought a healer here?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Geralt looked fit to tear him apart.  All at once more wolf than man, his eyes narrow and flashing hot gold.  </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Well, no, of course not,” Jaskier retorted, hurt.  “Honestly, Geralt. I know you think I'm stupid, but I am not <em>that</em> stupid. I didn't even mention Ciri to her. I went to the healer as though for myself.  I figured anything she gave me would be safe enough to give to Ciri, if we dilute it.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“For...yourself?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>At Geralt's apparent confusion, Jaskier lifted a hand and lightly tugged on the front of his chemise until Geralt could see the patch of red fever rash crawling up his chest.  </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The witcher's hard face softened as quickly as snow in the sun.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Jaskier...You..you have it, too.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hazards of being a human, dear witcher, half the village is ill with it,” he responded, redoing the ties to his shirt with hands that were trembling, just a bit.  “Now, Gods, stop looking at me like that and get to work. The healer told me these herbs are best taken as a tea.  It will bring her fever down, if Ciri will take it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He began untying the small parcel of remedy when Geralt firmly gripped his arm, stilling him.  The shock of the touch on his fever-hot skin shot through him like a splash of cold water and he tried hard not to shiver, blinking under Geralt's ever intense gaze.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don't,” Geralt faltered, “...think you're stupid.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You do and I am, it’s true,” Jaskier said.  “But...not when it comes to her, alright?  I'd not put her in harm's way, if I can help it.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Geralt plainly did not know what to say, brow furrowed.  Jaskier huffed with fond exasperation and pressed his too-warm fingers to that large, scarred hand.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You can release me, you impossible brute,” he said, softly, “I forgive you.  Let loose.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Reluctantly, Geralt did let go but his odd gaze did not.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Lie down,” he said, at last, voice gruff.  He took the parcel from Jaskier's hands and gave the bard a push as gently as he could.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I'll take care of it from here. I'll...take care of you both.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Rest, Jaskier."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The witcher took the wet cloth from lax fingers.  Jaskier stirred, protesting.  He pushed himself up in the chair.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"...her fever, Geralt...s'rising...."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Rough knuckles brushed Jaskier's cheek.  A palm fitted itself over his eyes and he leaned into the touch.  His whole body ached and the touch was so pleasant and strong and blessedly cool. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Her fever is broken, Jask."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"...Hasn't...can't you feel it...she's on fire..."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"You're on fire, you fool," the gentle voice corrected.  The impossibly large hand moved to the back of Jaskier's neck and squeezed. Then he was being man-handled to his feet.  He put one hand on Geralt's large shoulder, trying to ground himself against the sudden spinning, the other hand clasped tightly in Geralt's.  A preposterous thought bubbled up unbidden and he laughed even as misery lanced it's way through his limbs at the shift.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"...may I have this dance..." he slurred, grinning.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Buy me a drink first," Geralt rumbled, his voice reverberating through Jaskier's fingers, through his bones. He wasn't helping very much as Geralt hauled him over to where the bedrolls stretched out on the floor.  Geralt's grip was growing tighter. Grounding him even as he felt himself slipping.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Easy," Geralt murmured.  He lowered the other man carefully, gently, as though he might break.  Maybe he was breaking, he thought, as pain radiated through his joints, washing over him as he laid back against soft blankets on hard floor.  He must have made a face or a sound because suddenly Geralt's hand was pressed firmly against his cheek and his concerned chalk-pale face was looming over him. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>His eyes closed and he swore he felt the hard press of dry lips against his forehead, far away and getting farther. That couldn't be real, he thought, unless.... </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Am I...m' I dying?"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"No," Geralt spoke close enough that Jaskier could feel the breath in his hair.  He was drifting now...the voice a quiet and firm anchor in the dark.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Not tonight, you're not."</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Pillory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to write another Yennefer and Jaskier friendship piece and, oh, how I wanted this be a longer fic!  I wanted chapters and adventure!  But my brain and skillset just wouldn't accommodate. So, ficlet it is.  Here she be.</p>
<p>Our favorite mage happens upon our favorite bard locked up in a town's stocks.  But where is our strapping witcher?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>High heeled shoes walked into his line of vision; beautiful, impeccable, without a single speck of road mud on them. The swinging hemline of a black dress in some expensive fabric. Silk, maybe. Or satin? Organza. If that was a fabric. <em>Didn't really matter,</em> he thought miserably. What mattered was the insidious owner of said shoes and fancy dress was standing close enough he could feel the chill of her shadow and smell her perfume.</p>
<p>Somewhere above him, she laughed. Not a demure lady-like chuckle either, a real belly laugh. Downright rude, if you asked him. He straightened up, as much as he could straighten while being locked rather piteously in a pillory.</p>
<p>“You know, I was beginning to think this day couldn't get any better,” Jaskier said, amicably, “and yet...here you are.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Jaskier,” she said, with that tell-tale edge of sarcastic delight. “How did you get yourself into this little predicament? Did you get caught fucking the alderman's wife this time? Or did she catch you with the alderman? I know you aren't terribly...discerning when it comes to your pitiful little conquests.”</p>
<p>Jaskier's mouth opened with a huff before he snapped it closed, unsure which bit was more offensive.</p>
<p>“I...I'm- I am <em>discerning,” </em>he managed, “and for your information, Yennefer, none of my...my conquests- as you so charmingly put it- would consider the encounter<em> pitiful </em>in the slightest....not that <em>you</em> will ever know...you...you could be the last woman <em>alive</em>, and I promise I would rather-”</p>
<p>“If your usual debauchery didn't land you here,” Yennefer cut him off, the smile still in her voice, “then what else would warrant such a public shaming? Was it your big mouth?”</p>
<p>He sniffed and went silent, fuming. He heard her long lacquered nails ticking on the wooden slat above his head. One lovely shoe tapped impatiently.</p>
<p>“Well,” she said after it was clear Jaskier wasn't going to be forthcoming, “whatever it was you did, I'm sure the punishment is well deserved... However, I do find it hard to believe the witcher would have allowed them to put you in the stocks. He has a soft spot for your...antics, no matter how stupid.  So, where is our Geralt?”</p>
<p><em>Oh, wouldn't you like to know</em>, Jaskier immediately thought but didn't say. Regardless of what Yennefer thought, he wasn't stupid.</p>
<p>“<em>Our </em>Geralt is not here,” Jaskier ground out, instead. “He's on a hunt. He picked up a contract here. Actually, he's...well, if you must know, he's... missing.”</p>
<p>The tapping of nails stilled.</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“...It's not like you're going to help,” Jaskier spat, “so why bother? Why don't you portal off somewhere else and leave me alone?”</p>
<p>“Jaskier.” Her voice was quieter but impossibly more dangerous. “Geralt is missing?”</p>
<p>“He's...more late, really,” Jaskier said. “He was due back three days ago. I tried to tell the good alderman that monster hunting is not an exact art, but...it was quite a well-paying contract, and Geralt was given half up front...and the alderman thinks Geralt has just taken off with the gold. So--”</p>
<p>He waggled his hands in the holes beside his head.</p>
<p>“--they decided that since they can't punish Geralt for the alleged thievery, why not punish his faithful bard companion instead? They locked me up this morning and I'm to be kept to the pillory until Geralt eventually returns or... they tire of all of this, or I die, I guess. I don't know. On orders of the alderman.”</p>
<p>He swallowed.</p>
<p>“I'm rather...worried about Geralt, actually. He's fine, I'm sure, he's <em>always </em>fine but...”</p>
<p>“He'll return,” Yennefer said, decisively. “In the mean time, I could free you... but far be it from me to interfere with local politics. I think it would be rather more interesting to see this sort itself out, don't you?”</p>
<p>“I <em>knew</em> it,” Jaskier muttered. “Why did I even bother?..”</p>
<p>“I best be going,” she said, and he could hear her infuriating smile again, “Lovely chat, dear. But It does looks like it might rain.”</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Yennefer listened to the rain pounding on the inn roof that night as she sat by the fire and drank mulled wine. She tried to think of Jaskier and glean some satisfaction for his suffering but now, as the wind howled a bit in the rafters and the night's chill crept in, she frowned into the depths of her cup.</p>
<p>He was only human, after all. A weak, stupid, annoying human, to be sure, who prattled on and on and wrote nasty songs about her and pretended they weren't about her when they <em>clearly</em> were. Still. Three days late, he'd said. And the bard had sounded honest, and truly pitiful, when he had spoken up about it. Jaskier, for all his glaring and obnoxious faults, did harbor a deep and unyielding love for the witcher. <em>Her</em> witcher, she thought and drank.</p>
<p>It had been a surprise when she had come into this blighted town and saw the familiar bard clamped into the stocks in the town square. This was a coincidence, indeed. Since their eventful meeting in Rinde, she had run into Geralt on two separate occasions and now this... She had only come here to provide a service. perhaps; a round of cures and magical remedies, to fill her purse for another dose of that probably useless fertility treatment, with the cost of it ever increasing. It was better to keep moving to different towns, she found, some were more friendly to magic than others. A town that treated friends of witchers so poorly might not have a high appreciation of mages either. Best to move on. In the morning then.</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>The next morning, the rain continued on. Yennefer cursed herself as she ended up back in the town square, her velvet cloak enchanted to keep her dry as the mud pooled around her boots.</p>
<p>Jaskier was soaked to the bone and looking twice as pitiful as ever, bent as he was and trembling with cold. When she approached, he contorted his neck to do his best to look at her, squinting and sniffling. He looked as pale and red-eyed as a wet white rabbit.</p>
<p>“Yennefer...I, uh, to... to what do I owe this displeasure?”</p>
<p>Ah, he had been crying then. It wasn't just the rain. She bit back the worst of her responses and decided to get straight to the point.</p>
<p>“What was he hunting then, bard?”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinked at her then went back to staring at her shoes. He certainly seemed no longer up to sparring and she was glad to not waste time.</p>
<p>“The alderman didn't know what it was, just that it smelt terrible and was killing villagers who wandered too far into the woods. Geralt thought it was a rotfiend. Should just take a day, he said, maybe two if it was hiding...”</p>
<p>“And it's been five,” Yennefer mused. Yes, Geralt should have been able to handle a single rotfiend in a leisurely afternoon. And while the man could certainly be accused of moving on without saying good-bye, he would have at least returned for the payment. <em>Priorities,</em> she thought, wryly.</p>
<p>“Nearly six,” Jaskier said and then his teeth chattered loudly enough that Yennefer could hear it over the din of the rain, like a tin cup full of dice. He once again tried to look at her, lifting his head an uncomfortable angle. </p>
<p>“...Are you going to go looking for him? Please. Please, please tell me you're going to go looking for him. If anyone can find him, it's you.”</p>
<p>“I'll look for him,” Yennefer said and watched the bard sag against the restraints with relief.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he murmured, in a voice soft enough that she was sure she wasn't meant to hear it. She was sure he expected her to leave him there and, gods, did she want to. Especially after his last ballad about the 'violet eyed siren of Vengerberg who eats men's hearts for sport and lust.' He deserved to stay here in the stocks, all ruined silk and wet lace and aching back, it might humble him and he certainly needed some humbling for all his lyrics to the contrary.</p>
<p>But Geralt would not forgive her easily if she left his companion to starve or freeze in the stocks. And if she was swayed by the bard's sudden spell of repentant gratitude, well...he'd never have to know it.</p>
<p>Yennefer made a little gesture and the thick padlock on the pillory unlocked itself and fell to the ground with a thud. Jaskier startled and gaped at the fallen lock.</p>
<p>“Come on, then,” she said. “Lead the way.”</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Not Waving but Drowning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title relentlessly stolen from a poem by Stevie Smith.  Jaskier has a nightmare. Ciri and Geralt are there.  tw: for referenced past torture</p><p>Love to you all.  Things will get better.  :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <p> </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>A whimper.</p>
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    <p>Geralt's eyes snapped open.  He turned his head to the right, searching out Ciri in the darkness.  She was not far from him, sleeping soundly, one pale, small hand stretched out and touching the edge of his bedroll.</p>
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    <p>Another whimper, muffled.  </p>
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    <p>Geralt turned to the left, where Jaskier slept a few feet away.  The bard was not facing him, but Geralt saw his shoulders were as tense as a blade and trembling.</p>
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  <p>Having pulled Jaskier from the depths of a Nilfgaardian dungeon only a few months before, it was not uncommon for him have troubled sleep.  Geralt knew better now than to wake him by shaking him.  Lovely tactile Jaskier, who over the long years had been so free with his touch, squeezing a shoulder, tending a wound, even a handful of enthusiastic-if one-sided- embraces...now would startle away from any touch he didn't see coming, and evade the ones he did. Geralt considered it yet another failure, in a long line of them, that he was not able to protect Jaskier when it mattered most.  Another person irreparably hurt by the simple act of standing too close to Geralt and his destiny.</p>
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  <p>As he'd done on nights past, he'd wake Jaskier with his voice instead. The bard would shake off the dregs of the dream then Geralt would listen quietly for the sounds of his friend's slow and settled breathing before turning his mind towards sleep again himself.  He gave a whisper, loud but not as loud as to wake up Ciri.</p>
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  <p>“Jaskier.  Jask, wake up.”</p>
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  <p>The bard jerked sharply, with a gasp.  Geralt watched his fist clench into his blanket, then release, shaking.  His fingers were only freshly mended.  Geralt knew they ached still, on cold mornings, no magic could help that. The haunting reminder of ten bad breaks.  </p>
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  <p>“Jaskier...”</p>
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  <p>The bard rolled, carefully onto his back, blinking up at the dark canopy above.  His eyes were dark and frightened.  </p>
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  <p>“Ger..Geralt?”</p>
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  <p>“Mm.”</p>
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  <p>Jaskier let out a whoosh of held breath.  His eyes closed wearily. Geralt waited a few moments but the heartbeat beside him did not steady as it usually did.  A trembling continued coursing through the bard, reminding Geralt strangely of a rabbit caught still living in a snare. Something was wrong. He ventured another whisper in the tense night air.  </p>
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  <p>“Are you...alright?”</p>
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  <p>Jaskier gave a awful little laugh that sounded nothing like a laugh, jarring against Geralt's senses. It sounded more a wheeze of a man drowning.    </p>
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  <p>“Sorry, I'm...it was a...just a bad.  A bad dream...Go back to sleep.”</p>
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  <p>Time stopped as the witcher watched a glittering tear slide down the bard's cheek, into his hair.  </p>
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  <p>A second one followed quickly, a third. Jaskier's hand came up to cover his mouth and he drew a wet, muffled breath, not quite a stifled sob. Geralt felt mercilessly like a helpless observer as his friend <em>did</em> drown, beside him, unable to even extend a hand to pull him up, to save him.          </p>
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  <p>“Jaskier?”</p>
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  <p>Ciri, her hair wild with sleep, propped herself up on one arm and peered over Geralt's shoulder.</p>
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  <p>“Ciri, go back to sleep,” Geralt urged gently.</p>
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  <p>Ciri dismissed him in turn, instead she shuffled closer, reaching over him as far as her thin, little arm could go.  </p>
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  <p>“Jaskier?”</p>
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  <p>Jaskier roughly wiped his eyes with the hems of his sleeves, and looked at Ciri and her outstretched hand.  He tried and failed to give her a smile.  </p>
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  <p>“I'm alright, dear heart,” Jaskier said.  His voice was thin as parchment, creaking.  He cleared his throat against it, frowning.    </p>
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  <p>Ciri's gentle young face became serious, her fair eyebrows knitting together as she considered.  </p>
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  <p>“It's okay if you're not alright, you know,” she said.  “Sometimes, I'm not.”</p>
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  <p>Jaskier said nothing for a long moment, his throat working. Geralt was about to firmly encourage Ciri to go back to bed again.  Then, slowly and purposely, Jaskier reached out and he took her hand in the dark, over Geralt's chest. The witcher felt a sharp, warm ache suddenly in his heart. He was far too old and embittered to call the pain hope.  </p>
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  <p>“I am,” Jaskier said, a little stronger. “Alright... Or I will be, I think.  I have you, after all.  And Geralt.  Haven't I?”</p>
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  <p>Ciri hummed in agreement, the noise so reminiscent of Geralt that Jaskier huffed a little laugh. A tired strangled thing but not tinged with fear, not so desperate as before.  The witcher felt himself ease a little at the sound.</p>
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  <p>“That’s enough, then, for me,” Jaskier said.</p>
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  <p> He squeezed her fingers tightly, once, then let go.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Coda to s1 ep5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!<br/>Just a brief little coda to "Bottled Appetites."  Friendship.  Jaskier figures out Geralt had the wishes.  They talk.  Not much happens!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He heard him before he saw him, which was normal when it came to the bard. A tenor voice was raised in song, pealing through the night air--</p><p>“<em>--suffering silently in the cold wind, freezing his arse off on the road back to Rinde...”</em></p><p>Geralt's lip quirked up in spite of himself. While certainly not Jaskier's cleverest work, he was relieved to hear it, nonetheless.</p><p>Ahead on the path, the singer himself came into view. He was hunched over, arms crossed against the thin fabric of his bloodied shirt and the chill. When he heard Roach's hooves, he spared a surprised look behind then pointedly straightened up and continued on as though he hadn't seen.</p><p>Geralt led Roach behind him for a short while, trying to find the right words to say to break the sudden, tense quiet. Finally, the bard stopped short, spun on his heel and glared up at the Witcher with his hands on his hips.</p><p>“Geralt,” he clipped, squinting at his friend, “I have to say, I didn't expect to see <em>you</em> anytime soon. You seemed to be finally getting a...a most<em> restful </em>sleep.”</p><p>Geralt mulled over an answer. Jaskier waited a full three breaths for a response before he threw up his hands and huffed.</p><p>“Right. Well. In case you actually <em>care</em>, I'm cold and I'm hungry and I've nearly died <em>twice</em> today so if you don't mind, I'd like to leave you to your precious peace and quiet and be on my way!”</p><p>“I don't want that,” Geralt said.</p><p>“Don't want <em>what</em>?” Jaskier kicked a non-existent stone in the path, scowling.</p><p>“Peace,” Geralt grumbled. “Or...quiet."</p><p>“Well, you wished for it, didn't you?” Jaskier said and his hand unconsciously went to his throat and rubbed there before he caught himself and dropped it. “You had the wishes. I finally figured it all out. 'All I want is some damn peace,' you said. Then the Djinn tried to kill me! Because you think I'm...I'm loud! And annoying. And grating. And-”</p><p>“No,” Geralt said, then rubbed a gloved hand over the bridge of his nose. “I mean. Yes. You are-”</p><p>“- Thanks so very much for <em>that</em>-”</p><p>“-But I didn't want for you get hurt,” Geralt said. “I didn't wish for that I'm... sorry, Jaskier.”</p><p>Jaskier deflated, thinking it over, hunching back over himself as the wind kicked up again. He tucked his hands in his armpits and fixed Geralt with a gaze that was both anxious and hopeful. It reminded the Witcher- somewhat unfairly, he thought- of the young bard who had once followed him doggedly out of Posada, against his will and against his wishes. All wide eyes in a youthful face, painfully trusting...</p><p>“Do you truly, truly think,” Jaskier started, faltering, “...that my singing is like a fillngless pie?”</p><p>Geralt sighed.</p><p>Instead of answering, he reached for his saddlebag, pulled out his old riding cloak. It smelled of horse, he was sure (and couldn't help thinking of the mage's wry opinion of his smell) but it was warm and it would do. He shook it out and thrust the cloak towards the shivering young man in front of him.</p><p>“Come on. Let's...go find your lute, bard.”</p><p>Jaskier blinked at him before accepting the garment.</p><p>“Find my...?”</p><p>Jaskier quickly swung the cloak over his shoulders, fumbling with the clasp, as he fell into step alongside Geralt. He bumped their arms together, tucking his pleased grin into the cowl of the borrowed cloak.</p><p>“You're such an arse, you know. But,” he sniffed, “ Apology accepted, my dear witcher.”</p><p>Geralt bumped him back, less gentle. Jaskier's smile was as obnoxious as it was completely welcome.</p><p>“If you don't mind my asking, what about the...uh, beguiling, murderous witch?”</p><p>Geralt frowned. Yennefer... Maybe she had already rolled over in the dark and found his spot cold and empty. Maybe she was even taking solace in the fact that he had left...who could possibly miss a man like him? Who could possibly...He thought of the wish and felt a wash of shame and guilt and, maybe, worse, a sliver of hope.</p><p>“I think our paths might cross again,” he said carefully.</p><p>“Well...can't have everything, I guess,” Jaskier replied, grimly. Then,“You know, I do have to say I wouldn't have thought you capable of such grace, Geralt. The way you moved! Oh, and that little thing you did when she—do you think you could teach me how you--”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice warm. “Shut up.”</p>
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